Drugs and Late Night Talk Shows are Bad, M'kay?
by avalise
Summary: Kyle has Stan—sort of. Stan has Kyle—sort of. If only Stan would just grow a pair so that he can quit wasting Kenny's weed on whining. Slash.
1. Part One

**Title**: Drugs and Late Night Talk Shows are Bad, M'kay? (Part One)

**Author**: acidspin

**Rating**: R-ish? Mainly for Kenny's foul mouth and drug use/references.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own South Park, nor do I claim to. Created by Trey Parker and Matt Stone, property of Comedy Central. Also, this is a SLASH story. Dude love here, people.

**Pairings**: Just good 'ol fashion Stan x Kyle

**Summary**: Kyle has Stan, kind of. And Stan has Kyle, kind of. If only Stan would grow a pair so he could quit wasting Kenny's weed on whining.

**Notes**: Hellooo. So, this is my first jump into SP fanfiction, and I'll admit, I'm kind of nervous. I have been working on this for about a month and a half now. I had originally planned for this to be a hell of a lot shorter but that didn't work out too well. Hopefully it's not too wordy and boring. So, this is broken up into two parts. The story is finished, but I decided to do some last minute edits to part two. I will post the rest once I'm done, which will only be within the next few days. Yay for short wait?

Oh, and I don't have a beta or anything…If there is a typo or a big gaping plot hole, feel free to let me know. I've read this over more times than I can count, but I know I had to have missed some things. Reviews are sososo appreciated because it would be nice to know whether or not this is good or a big steaming pile of crap. Haha.

With that said…Hope you enjoy and happy reading! :)

**Edit**: Finally! This story has been beta-ed by the lovely **miniji**. Without her, my embarrassing mistakes would still be floating around in this massive wall of text.

**Drugs and Late Night Talk Shows are Bad, M'kay?**

(Part One)

Kenny's dealer was a large fat man who was completely unaware of the fact that years had actually passed since 1977. He wore a thick handlebar mustache, slicked back hair, aviator glasses, worn down bellbottom jeans, and a white pleated jacket. He had this distinct and very potent smell about him, too. He didn't smell like pot, which would have made sense, since that's what he was always selling, but he had this stench that reminded Stan of old salmon, beer, and cheap cologne. Stan's only reason for tagging along on Kenny's "refill run" (as Kenny called it) was to witness and smell this eighth wonder of the world.

"You're fuckin' weird, dude." Kenny had told him on the way home from school when Stan voiced his reasoning for coming along again.

The two boys were walking down the stretch of Main Street, towards Kenny's neck of South Park. The scenery changed drastically as they entered the bad part of town. On one side of the block were well kept, middle-class homes; on the other, scattered graffiti and elegant cardboard in place of windows. It was like the asphalt of the street separated the town.

Stan made sure his hands were in his pockets, clutching his wallet and cell phone tightly. He'd been robbed before over here. Although that had been when he was nine, he still never recovered from the long lost $11.50 and blue Terrance and Philip lunchbox that was taken from him.

Kenny always had a strong interest in drugs growing up. His friends first noticed his addiction to mind altering…things back when they were eight and he became addicted to cheesing. To this day, he denies that that incident ever happened. It wasn't exactly his proudest moment, sniffing cat piss. And he especially denied the part about rolling around in his underwear with Kyle's very Jewish and very balding father. But that was the first time the boys noticed that Kenny may have had a little trouble in the self-control department.

He tried the choking game while jerking off a few times, but when he kept dying, he decided it probably wasn't the best idea. Next was huffing glue and air compression. These highs were okay. They kept Kenny feeling good for almost an hour and they were easy to get away with in class, but they were still bullshit, Kenny said.

The first time Kenny smoked marijuana, he was just thirteen, experimenting in his backyard. When he tried it, his lungs screamed at him in a fit of coughs, wondering just what the _fuck_ he was doing to them. Then the only sort of effect he had was uncontrollable laughter. He didn't feel much of a difference, but he couldn't speak without at least getting a mild case of the giggles. It was annoying, if anything, and he decided that this wasn't the right way to do things; he must have inhaled wrong or something. So, he waited for the giggles to subside and tried again.

The second time Kenny smoked marijuana, he swore that he heard birds chirping because he had instantly fallen in love. He leaned into his back step and just sat there for a few hours, watching squirrels eat his garbage. It was totally awesome.

"There he is." Kenny pointed to a corner and Stan followed, just like he did the other times that he accompanied Kenny on his not-so-inconspicuous drug deals.

Kenny's dealer was his father's friend, and he'd been spotted around South Park multiple times. It wasn't like he was hard to miss, either. Stan said that he tagged along because the guy was such a character, but it wasn't entirely true. There was a hidden curiosity that Stan had about Kenny's open drug habit. He'd never done anything besides drink alcohol, but he guessed that was normal for the average sixteen year old. Not many kids were drug fiends their age—it's not like this was the city. But still, he was curious.

Every time the two would go through this routine, Stan thought about smoking with Kenny. But he always backed out. They would meet this odd individual, get the "Mary Jane," go back to Kenny's, and then Stan would just watch Kenny smoke his bong like a diabetic kid staring at candy. Kenny never questioned why Stan would never smoke with him, because he already knew. Kyle always preached to Kenny about how he needed to stop this habit, so he just knew that the same opinions of Stan's super best friend were drilled into his head too.

After the all too blatant drug deal on a corner, in the middle of the day, Stan and Kenny walked to Kenny's house. It was Friday, and since Kyle had basketball practice, and Cartman's face was always in a bowl of Cheesy Poofs, this started to become a weekly routine.

What was awesome about Kenny's house was that his parents never cared about what he did. Stan felt bad for seeing Stu and Carol's ignorance towards their child as a good thing, but Kenny elaborated several times that he didn't give two shits about his family. He had friends that meant more to him than they ever did, so he was set, and that made Stan feel better about the situation.

So there Stan was, sitting on the edge of Kenny's bed—a mattress on the floor. He, again, wanted to ask Kenny if he could smoke, just this one time to ease his nagging curiosity. Everyone talks about how great this shit is, why couldn't he just try it to see what the fuss was about?

He was watching Kenny dump the buds of grass out of the plastic bag and empty them into his jar. The glass container had a permanent scent of pot since that's where Kenny's stash was always kept. This was just one more thing that didn't help Stan's temptation. He absolutely loved the smell of marijuana. It was just so enticing because it smelled like nothing else.

As he watched Kenny break the drug up and dispose of seeds and branches in the utmost silence that only close friends feel comfortable in, he heard Kyle's voice echo through his head. "It's bad for your lungs, dude. I know that people say the long-term effects aren't as bad as cigarettes, but think about it. I mean, holding smoke in your lungs for that amount of time has emphysema written all over it."

Kenny had this large bong that he named Marie. All of Kenny's possessions, what little he did have, had female names dedicated to them for no other reason than the fact that Kenny was addicted to females almost as much as he was to the green plant in front of him. The glass bong was about a foot high and was fire engine red. As Kenny packed a bowl and inserted it into Marie, Stan's mouth finally opened to ask if he could smoke too, but stopped himself, yet again.

"And it's a gateway drug. What if you like the feeling of being high? Before you know it, you never want to be sober and you're snortin' crack in an alleyway."

"I doubt it happens like that, Kyle."

"I was watching this documentary the other day, and it was about the horrors of drug addiction. Every person they spoke about started with pot. Half of them are dead now, Stan. DEAD."

"God, I swear, you're like forty. What the hell are you watching documentaries for?"

Kenny sat down beside Stan with the bong and lighter set between his hands. But before he began, he turned to ask the same question he asked every time Stan tried to pull off this charade. Like he just wants to laugh at Kenny's drug dealer. Stan wasn't fooling anyone. Kenny knew why he came along.

"Wanna smoke?" He didn't really expect anything, but he always asked. Just in case.

Stan eyed the red glass in front of him. Every now and then, he walked with Kenny to get drugs with the intention of finally trying to toke up, but all these warning signs kept flashing in his head so much that it always made him back out. By warning signs, he meant Kyle Broflovski picket signs. Stan was getting sick of it.

He found himself nodding in response to Kenny's question.

Kenny's grin grew from ear to ear. "Really?" His smile was bright, a rarity to see outside of his parka.

He noticed Stan hesitate, so he just passed the bong and lighter to him before he had a chance to rethink his answer. "Here."

Stan grabbed hold of Marie and awkwardly held her because he had no idea what he was doing. He'd seen Kenny do this a million times but the smoking instrument felt weird in his own hands. He glanced apprehensively at Kenny who was just staring at him. This was weird enough considering he'd never done this before. He didn't need Kenny staring down his every move while he tried to do this right and avoid looking like a total jackass.

Oh well.

He flicked the lighter in his hand and hovered it over the small bowl of neatly packed weed. The green illuminated into a bright orange as the embers burned into spinning smoke, encapsulated inside of Marie. He inhaled strongly, not really knowing how long he should suck the smoke into the bong before he was ready to continue the suckage into his lungs.

"Calm the fuck down, dude! You still gotta inhale, you know."

Stan listened and removed the bowl from the cloudy cylinder. Once he did, all of the collected smoke flew into his lungs like the suction from a vacuum cleaner. Of course, Stan immediately started coughing.

A laugh erupted from Kenny, and he grabbed the bong and lighter back.

Stan stood up from the mattress, feeling the intense burn on his lungs. He felt like those fire-eaters that, well, ate fire. How the hell did they do it completely unscathed? He pounded his chest with a fist in nice traditional angry gorilla fashion. "Jesus…" he managed to get out in between his quest to just get oxygen into his lungs without them refusing it, "…Christ…"

Kenny put the bong to his lips, filled it with smoke just a bit more than Stan did, and then inhaled with as much ease as if there was nothing flowing through his lungs but clean air.

Stan frowned, eyes watery and face red from coughing.

Kenny's chest puffed out and he held the smoke like a pro. He slowly let it filter out through his nose and parted his lips into a thin line to let the smoke seep through.

Stan had stopped coughing but rubbed his hand along his throat. "That sucks, dude. I'm not doing that again."

Kenny rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a pussy. Here, you can shotgun this next one I do. It'll be a lot easier on your throat. Sit down."

Stan did so and eyed Kenny curiously as he sat next to him, preparing himself to take another shot at this. "How do I 'shotgun' a hit that you do?" he used little air quotes.

"I take a hit, like I just did, but instead of just blowing the smoke back out, I blow it into your mouth and you breathe it in."

"What."

"I said that I take a hit—"

"No, I heard you, but what the fuck does blowing it into my mouth mean?"

"Just what you think it means, dumbass."

"I'm so not making out with you, dude."

Kenny rolled his eyes again, "I seal my mouth over yours for two seconds, you inhale the smoke, and I back away. The end. I'm not trying to rape your asshole or anything. This is only because you are a pussy and can't take a real hit on your own yet. Do you want to get high or not?"

Stan knew very well that this was in no way a sexual thing. Stan didn't have boobs. Therefore, Kenny wouldn't be interested in him. And he did want to get high. He already endured the torch to his throat, no use backing out now and having gone through that for nothing. If this way was an alternative to lessen the strain in his throat, then whatever, Kenny could pretend-make-out with him if he wanted to.

"Okay, fine. Let's just do it then." He shook himself off and prepared for another hit of unwanted burning, even though Kenny said this would be easier.

Kenny began like before while Stan just sat there awkwardly, staring and awaiting Kenny's chapped lips to close over his. Kenny took a large hit from Marie, filling the bong, inhaled, and then leaned over as casually as possible and parted his lips over Stan's.

Stan slowly breathed in, keeping eyes cast to the floor. He made it a point not to close them or else this would seem a lot more like a kiss than it should. Kenny wasn't the one he wanted to be kissing. He let the hot air slip into his mouth just before Kenny pulled away. He didn't feel any pain to his throat like he did before. This time was much smoother. He just felt a pocket of warm air, sitting patiently in his chest, waiting to leave just as fast as it entered.

"See?" Kenny asked as he watched the dissipating smoke release from Stan's mouth.

He nodded as he exhaled, clearing his throat a bit. "Yeah, that wasn't bad."

After another practice run of Stan's newly learned lesson on how to "shotgun," and then eventually getting used to taking a hit on his own, Kenny asked, "You feel anything yet?"

Stan paused in thought. He ran over his motor skills in his head and his everyday sobriety—no signs of anything different.

"Well, some people don't feel anything their first time. I laughed like an idiot my first time, but I didn't feel any different. Second time was better."

But after finishing the bowl, Stan kicked that assumption right out the door. He and Kenny were sitting on the mattress, backs against the wall, talking about the most random shit. Things like who invented paper plates, whatever happened to Mr. Garrison, which mental institution Cartman would end up in when he was older, and just how small were cell phones really going to keep getting?

Stan giggled lightly. He didn't have laughing fits like Kenny's first experience with pot, but he was definitely laughing more than usual. Things just seemed funnier. In fact, everything around him seemed like it jumped up a few slots on the scale of amazingness. All of his senses tingled. He felt like his body was nailed to the mattress but trying to float above him at the same time. He felt kind of numb, but it was kind of good. Kind of really good. He decided that he and Kenny had to hang out more often without Cartman and Kyle.

"Ya know," Kenny began, the back of his head leaned back so far against the wall that the top of his crown was almost touching it, "I can't believe you've never smoked with me before until now. Out of all the fuckin' times you'd come over…I knew you weren't coming along just to see Tee."

Stan barked a laugh. "Tee?"

Kenny turned his head with a relaxed smile on his face. Stan took notice to just how red his eyes were. They were a deep pink and narrowed like he just woke up from a nap. "Yeah, my dealer."

Stan felt awesome. He wanted to sit on the mattress for as long as possible. Getting up was not an option. "Oh, right. I always forget his name, or whatever the hell Tee is supposed to mean." Stan ran his hand over his black, matted hair. He was sporting a nice case of hat hair. "I've always wanted to smoke with you," he confessed, "but—"

"Kyle's always fuckin' preachin', I know." A crooked grin tugged at each end of his lips. "That kid gets in your head, Stan."

He smiled at the mention of his super best friend. "Yeah, I know, but Kyle's still awesome," he breathed out like he was in a daze.

Stan was stoned. This didn't go unnoticed by Kenny who just chuckled lightly at his friend's statement and state of mind. He leaned up from the peeling wallpaper behind him, turned around, and laid down on his back. He pulled his arms back to cross behind his head and looked up at Stan. He felt high as fuck too, but he'd been doing it for so long that the effect wasn't nearly as dramatic anymore. Kenny smoked every day after school. He functioned normally when high, which he guessed made him an official pothead—much to Cartman's annoyance.

"Hey, Kenny?"

"Hm?"

"Would you care if I was gay?"

Kenny arched an eyebrow through the ceiling, completely caught off guard by the random question.

Stan suddenly looked deep in thought. The mention of Kyle had diverted his attention completely and wholly to said subject. For the past few years, he and Kyle had been getting oddly closer. And, when anything was implied closer than the foundation they already had set in their friendship, it was just getting plain weird.

At first, Stan only stared one time. In third grade, when Bebe liked Kyle and said he had a nice ass, this made Stan wonder why he hadn't been drooling over Wendy's ass if that's what kids were supposed to be doing with their crushes. When he noticed Wendy and Kyle standing in the lunch line a few days after Bebe's confession, he decided to take a look at Wendy from behind to see what all the fuss was about. He felt bad and kind of awkward after staring for a few minutes so he looked away. Afterwards, when he still didn't understand this love of asses that was going around, he decided to check out Kyle's to see if there was anything special about it that Bebe was noticing and he wasn't. He found himself studying Kyle a lot longer than Wendy. He felt awkward staring at Wendy—he didn't with Kyle. When Kyle turned around and saw Stan staring, he made a stupid face that involved crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue, before paying for his kosher lunch that his mother demanded he buy every day.

Then, a few years later, with that incident immediately wiped from Stan's mind because he was still too young to comprehend why he would like to stare at Kyle's ass in the first place (he assumed it was just some stupid girl thing that he didn't understand at the time), he found himself staring at Kyle during classes. Elementary school continued to progress and he kept noticing Kyle's little personal habits. Like when Kyle wanted to answer a question from the teacher, he would just rest his elbow on the desk with his hand raised only to eye level. Then, when the teacher wouldn't notice him, he would raise it higher, his hand just a little bit above his head. And then, if he'd still go unnoticed, he'd throw his arm in the air, and would said the answer totally pissed off like because it took the teacher so long to call on him in the first place. Stan noticed he had three levels of raising his hand. Or how Kyle always chewed the ends of his pens like they were candy. The more involved in a thought process he was, the more wrath the pen felt from Kyle's munching. Stan noticed that Kyle would then give his pens away for people to borrow, like this wasn't the grossest thing ever. Or how Kyle's mom bought him a purple pencil case, and he actually used it. _How totally girly was that?_, Stan thought, because he definitely noticed how girly it was.

But even with these little staring trances Stan kept slipping into, studying his BFF during classes instead of notes, it still wasn't too odd yet. It wasn't odd through the rest of middle school or junior high either. It didn't start getting odd until his hormones began kicking in to tell him that he had basically been checking out his best friend his whole life just for the sake of looking.

When Stan came to this realization, he started noticing his own personal habits. He tuned classes out a lot. And when he did, his eyes tended to fall on Kyle just to trace over the green hat and tiny little auburn curls that slipped out beneath it. His mind would yell to stop fucking with him and to look at the girls in class like he was supposed to be doing. Kenny was doing it—he should be too.

Then, when the two of them would hang out in groups, he felt the need to always be closer to Kyle than everyone else. They sat next to each other no matter where they went or whom they went with. They even seemed to always be standing near each other. He couldn't explain it. There was just this constant want to be by Kyle's side, like they were two magnets hovering around each other, being pulling whichever way the other was moving. But, maybe it wasn't too odd for Stan, because he started noticing Kyle glancing his way every so often in classes, and he noticed Kyle always coming to be by his side, too.

By the time they were fourteen, that need to be close to each other never left. It extended itself even further into their time alone together. If they were sitting on the couch—just watching television—they were right next to each other, inches apart, making fun of whatever it was on TV. They were so close they could feel each other laughing at the program and their commentary to one another.

Last summer, things surpassed odd into weird when they started getting "touchy feely" with each other. At first, it wasn't anything too out of the ordinary. They'd rip on each other, one would shove the other, then the other would retaliate with another shove, and then, seconds later, they'd be wrestling on the floor together, both struggling for the dominant position to deem himself the totally awesome winner. But then that started happening _a lot more_, and Stan's hormones told him that the initial shove in the first place, along with the match that came afterward, was kind of like flirting. Was he flirting with Kyle? Or did he just want to slam his head into the floor because the bastard refused to believe that he definitely didn't use the blue-green-green-orange cheat code in Guitar Hero? Thing was, when the two would get into these battles, he had to admit that he started to like it when Kyle won. Because when Kyle won, he would hold Stan's wrists into the carpet with heavy breaths and a flushed face from all of the movement, and he would smile triumphantly as he held him down, letting the victory sink in. Every time Kyle did this, Stan's stomach flipped. It didn't flip in the way it did when Wendy tried to kiss him and he would puke on her, it flipped in the non-puke-inducing way it _should_ when a girl tries to kiss a boy. Needless to say, Stan started losing his mini wrestling matches with Kyle on purpose.

But the super weird thing about last summer was that the masculine aggression that was wrestling (that's what Kyle called it) wasn't the only way they were getting "touchy feely."

The two boys were always struggling last year to stay up until 12:30 in Kyle's living room because that's when their newfound interest in late night talk shows happened. That June, Terrance and Philip were going on the _Really Late Late Show_ to talk about the book that they wrote together regarding their Canadian television career. After the boys stayed up for that episode, they were hooked on the host's show. Stan told his parents about this interest, and since they knew he was only a few houses away at the Broflovskis', they didn't really care whether he slept at home or over there. They never bugged him about being out of the house that late. But with the early hours of school and Kyle's constant studying for June exams, they often fell asleep before the show even started. When the two would be sitting on the couch next to each other, too close for normal friend comfort, one's head would slowly start to droop with drowsiness to the other's shoulder. Stan didn't really remember how this first happened, but he thinks Kyle fell asleep on him. Then it happened again a few nights later. Even though Stan wasn't sure who started it, he was sure they were both switching up roles on who fell asleep on whom first almost every night just two weeks into the _Really Late Late Show_. A head would fall upon a shoulder, succumbing to the urges of sleep, and then the other, fighting a losing battle as well, would let his head fall atop the other's and fall asleep. They would wake up an hour or so later, say goodbye, and Stan would go home with his stomach in just as many knots as when he lost in wrestling.

These incidences gravitated slowly to Stan's house because Stan had a TV in his room—and there is definitely more privacy in a bedroom than a family living room. At age fifteen, who didn't want as much privacy as possible from parents?

At first, they'd just sit on the floor to watch television, backs against the bed, and reenacted what happened in Kyle's living room. Then, since they were always hanging out so late and falling asleep, they decided just to lie down and watch TV on the bed. They'd still fall asleep, but it was just _next_ to each other, not like before. But that need for closeness was relentless, and Stan had a feeling that Kyle felt the same way because, eventually, the shoulder pillows happened on Stan's bed and once again, they were entirely too close for normal friend comfort. Kyle started staying the whole night instead of just during the talk show, and Stan's hand slowly progressed over the many nights to wrap around Kyle while they were sleeping, pulling him closer, and Kyle's hand slowly progressed over the many nights to wrap around Stan, moving himself closer. They weren't quite sure how this happened, it just kind of gradually did; but they started having these sleepovers together so often that Kyle's mom had to have a talk with him about sleeping in his own house for once because the Marshes weren't looking into adoption any time soon.

Since that summer, the daily sleepovers switched to weekly, thanks to Shelia Broflovski. Now, every Friday, the two would stay at Stan's house. Everything would seem like a normal weekend night at first. They'd go out with friends, or go play basketball, or just sit in and play video games, but they had a silent agreement with each other that they'd both be sleeping in Stan's bed that night when all was said and done. It wasn't just Kyle's head falling asleep on his shoulder or vice versa anymore. It turned into full on spooning throughout the entire night. The two didn't let go of each other until morning. That flip in Stan's stomach that only Kyle created was addicting. The closer he was to his super best friend, the more he felt it. He was beginning to think he had an addiction almost as bad as Kenny did.

So now, Stan was stuck in this totally weird situation with Kyle. It was just some kind of unspoken agreement they had. They never talked about what they were doing—not once. They just did it. Stan had a feeling that they were both too afraid to acknowledge their actions out loud, out of fear of what they could, and probably did, mean—hence his seemingly random topic with Kenny.

Kenny mulled the question over in his head for so long that Stan almost forgot he asked it. "Gay? …Are you coming out to me, dude?"

Stan laughed at this. He knew he wouldn't have brought up this topic if he wasn't high because if he and Kyle couldn't even talk about it, then he and Kenny _definitely_ shouldn't be talking about it…but he just felt so comfortable. All was right with the world. It felt like a good time to get things off his chest. Kenny was one of his best friends, so maybe he could lend some advice. "No. I don't really know if I am…I'm just asking _hypothetically_."

Kenny tilted his head and it landed in the crevice of his folded elbow. "You don't know if you are? Holy fuck, dude. You're totally coming out to me, aren't you?"

Stan knew that all the signs were there. It took forever for him to stop puking on Wendy, he'd been checking out his best friend since third grade, he was closer to Kyle than anyone else, and he was just blatantly attracted to him in some fucked up sort of way.

Stan frowned, "I don't know. Just listen, Kenny."

"I'm listening."

Stan furrowed his eyebrows. He wasn't sure how to explain himself. He had all the thoughts in his head but he couldn't word them correctly.

"Well…?" Kenny urged. Stan couldn't just bring up something that important and then not elaborate. Come on now.

"Me and Kyle…I don't know…we're in a weird situation."

"Like…?"

"Well…we fall asleep with each other every Friday night."

Kenny arched an eyebrow. "What the fuck does that even mean?"

Stan ran his hand over his hair again, a habit he had when his hat was off. This was harder to explain than he initially thought. "Like…every Friday, we hang out, watch TV, and then just sleep together."

"You're fucking Kyle?"

"What?"

"That's cool if you're fucking Kyle, whatever. I don't care about that shit. Don't mention it to Cartman though. He'll tear you guys new assholes."

"I'm _not_ fucking Kyle! Jesus Christ, Kenny."

"What the hell are you talking about, then?"

Stan shrugged. He knew the situation was weird, but saying it out loud was even weirder. "We just…I don't know, what is there to get? We fall asleep together. We don't do anything, we just…sleep really close."

Kenny leaned up to support his weight on his elbow. "That's weird, dude."

"I know it is."

"No wonder you're thinking you're gay! That one step away from a pride parade."

Stan laughed, feeling outside himself. There was a corner in his brain telling him to just shut the hell up, but he wasn't listening. "I know…and lately, I keep getting this urge to kiss him."

Kenny scrunched up his face in disgust. The thought of his two friends making out was kind of gross, but he immediately changed his facial reaction because he didn't want to give Stan the wrong impression. It didn't have anything to do with homophobia; Kenny had just known them for so long that it was weird to think about. He felt Stan and Kyle were like his brothers (Cartman was more like some asshole cousin) and the thought of his brothers kissing was weird as balls.

Kenny knew this was a serious situation though, because Stan had only come to him with personal troubles a few times. For everything else, he had Kyle. He felt kind of bad that Stan had to be high to tell him this though. He didn't want his friends to think they couldn't come to him about things, even shit as out there as this.

He sat up, and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "Then just do it. Who cares?"

"You can't just kiss your best friend, dude."

"Why not?" Kenny smirked, "We just kissed."

"Shut up, we did not."

"Your lips are real soft, Stan. Kyle might like them." Kenny's smirk went to full on laughing.

"Knock it off. This is serious."

Kenny composed himself. He did want to help. It was just kind of funny, too. "I don't get why this shit makes you so nervous, dude. Okay, you may not be into girls, but puking on Wendy every time she came near you is a little dramatic, don't ya think? You can stand up to the entire town for the stupid shit we do, but you can't kiss your best friend?"

Stan ignored his point because he knew he was right. He didn't know why, but the boy-girl, or in his case boy-boy, situations made him really nervous. "There are consequences if it's not received well. Kyle is my best friend. I can't fuck that up. I don't know what I'd do without him."

"Oh, come on, you two are sleeping together every week and you think some kiss won't be 'received well'?"

"Well…" Stan looked away from Kenny and began picking at his fingernails.

Kenny rolled his eyes and punched Stan in kind of a playful yet don't-be-such-a-dumbass kind of way. "Quit over-thinking things and just do it. If Kyle reacts badly to a kiss while you two are cuddling—which he won't—you two will get over it. You guys have been in fights before and you always get over it."

"Aw, dude. Don't say that. We don't cuddle."

"Then what do you think you're doing?"

"Okay, fine, maybe we do…but don't call it that. That sounds really gay."

"Last time I checked, cuddling with a dude is pretty gay."

"If I'm gay, I'm gay, but that just _sounds_ gay."

"Well, you were real into that metro-sexual craze…"

"Dude! So were you! You bought a furry blue parka, for chrissakes."

"One, I stole it. I can't afford lunch let alone a fucking fuzzy parka. Two, I could walk around with a lisp and a limp wrist and no one would question my sexuality."

"Just…I dunno, dude. What if I freak him out and he doesn't want to talk to me again?"

Kenny just shook his head. Stan was worrying about this way too much. "Don't be. That definitely won't happen."

"You can't be sure of that."

"Yeah I can. I get real insightful and think I'm a genius when I'm high. Let's just stick with that. Now come on, I'll pack my bong again."

X X X


	2. Part Two

**Drugs and Late Night Talk Shows are Bad, M'kay?**

(Part Two)

It was like any other typical Wednesday afternoon. Kenny knew that Kyle was being a total dork and staying late for some study group.

Kenny was outside of a classroom, leaning against a random locker, waiting to have a talk with his friend. He figured that what he was about to do was wrong, but something had to be done. Though Stan was a lot of fun to smoke with, there was a problem. It had been three weeks since he gave into Maria's charm, and since then, two things had happened—or rather, _hadn't_ happened. One, he still didn't have enough nerve to just grow a pair and kiss Kyle, and, two, the longer the first reason went unattended, the more he began whining about it while he was high. Kenny had no one else to smoke with, so in his mind—since Stan wasn't solving anything—he'd just have to take it upon himself to get his new smoking buddy back on a no-whining track.

Besides, Kenny knew the kind of person Kyle was. He knew that he wouldn't just shun his best friend. It was painfully obvious that Kyle was into Stan just as much as Stan was into him. Always had been. Whenever Stan would do something morally courageous, like he tends to do, Kyle would get all starry eyed and get this sick look of puppy love on his face. It was gross.

Stan would be pissed at Kenny at first, but he was sure that he'd be helping in the long run. He just hoped that Stan wouldn't be mad at him for too long.

"Kyle!" Kenny yelled, hoping he'd been heard through his parka. Story of his life.

Kyle was exiting the classroom with a crowd of kids that fit the definition of the word "nerd" perfectly. They had the button up shirts, pocket protectors, mega-advanced calculators, thick glasses, short pants, and polished shoes. Kyle stuck out like a sore thumb. Kenny knew that the redhead was a complete book nerd—he wouldn't deny that—but he never fit the part of a nerd appearance-wise. His green hat was kind of lame, but Kenny wouldn't tell him that. Kyle was sensitive about his hat for some weird reason. But otherwise, Kyle was just in denim jeans, a green t-shirt, and his snow coat, looking like an average student.

He turned from the rest of his study group, tilting his head when he noticed that it had been Kenny who called for him. He never stayed late for anything. "What are you doing here?"

Kenny pushed himself off the locker and approached him. "I gotta talk to you. Can we go outside or something?"

"O…k." Kyle was somewhat confused, but followed along anyway. The two stopped beneath an aged oak tree behind the deserted school.

Kenny removed the hood from his head and reached for the cigarette behind his ear. He wasn't nervous at all to tell Kyle about this situation. He actually found it amusing. Kyle was going to be so pissed off when he found out that Stan had been letting him in on a secret of theirs, but that didn't matter. He could get Kyle to calm down. It was all about the way he talked to him.

With sight on the stick of nicotine, Kyle thought about mentioning the fact that sodium hydroxide was a compound in hair removal products, and the same shit was in cigarettes, but he held back the information. Talking to Kenny about his bad habits was useless. He never listened.

"So, what'd Cartman do this time?" Kyle asked, naturally feeling like he was pulled out here because Cartman was up to something. He and Kenny didn't have a lot of serious talks involving anything besides their plans to get back at Cartman. He had no reason to assume this was otherwise.

Kenny shook his head and swallowed a mouthful of smoke. "Nah, this doesn't have anything to do with him."

Kyle hitched his shoulders. "Okay, so what's this about then?"

"Well…you have to promise not to get mad first."

Whenever someone asked Kyle to do that, it always ended up with him getting mad. People only asked that when something bad was coming. He frowned. "You know I can't agree to that if I don't know what you're going to tell me. And I have a feeling it's not good if you're pulling me aside like this. So, out with it, what's up?"

"Not until you promise, dude."

"Kenny! Don't be retarded, it's impossible to promise you that I won't get angry. No one can control what their reaction will be to something they don't have a clue about. I can't promise I'll be anything."

Kenny considered this and damned Kyle and his intellectual loopholes. "Okay, well promise you won't freak out then."

"What?!" He yelled, frustration clear in his voice. Kenny was worrying him now. "Tell me what's going on. Did something happen to Stan?"

Kenny let out a silent laugh and shook his head when Kyle's first reaction to something being wrong was to worry about Stan. His friends were so gay for each other that it was almost ridiculous. Kenny definitely was doing them a favor. "Well, not really, but it involves him."

Kyle's frustration softened. Maybe this was pretty serious. "Is he okay? Did Cartman do something to him?"

"Jesus Christ. I already told you this has nothing to do with Cartman."

"Well, goddammit, you're not telling me anything, so I have to keep guessing!"

"You wouldn't have to keep fucking guessing if you would just promise not to get mad!"

"I already said that I can't promise that!"

"Then promise you won't freak out!"

"Okay, okay, fine!" He took a deep breath to regain his composure, and lowered the volume of his voice. "There. I won't freak out. Happy?" He crossed his arms over his chest.

Kenny grinned with a small victorious smile. He wasn't sure how to ease into the conversation, so he just figured he'd come out with it head on. "Stan told me about you guys."

If there was ever a time to see Kyle's face distort into more than four emotions at once, it was now. Kenny figured he went from confusion, to realization, to shock, and then to embarrassment. His voice peeped out in a whisper, the eyes of the abandoned schoolyard gaping at him. "He what?" His color drained, leaving him an off-white.

"Yeah." Kenny took another drag of his cigarette like they were casually discussing the Broncos. "The whole, ya know, cuddling thing. He told me about it a few weeks ago."

Kyle's jaw hung open, and as fast as he turned pale, he flushed a deep red with embarrassment and anger. "He what!"

"Don't freak out, dude. You said you wouldn't."

Kyle balled his hands into little fists like he always did when he was frustrated. "You didn't say it had anything to do with this! What the fuck!"

Kenny just rolled his eyes and continued with his cigarette, completely having expected this reaction from Kyle.

"I can't believe he told you! Jesus Christ, we don't even talk about it." He shook his head, realization hitting him over and over again. "I can't believe he told you!"

"Yeah, he mentioned that you two hadn't talked about it. That's so weird."

"Oh, and I guess he just tells you everything now, huh?"

Kenny could tell his amused demeanor was bothering Kyle even more. "Jealous?"

"No! I'm not jealous. I'm pissed off is what I am." Kyle turned to stomp off and find Stan to give him a piece of his mind, but not before Kenny grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. Kyle's face was still heated. Kenny couldn't tell if he was more embarrassed or angry.

"Alright, calm down, you sound like a wounded girlfriend. Listen, just hear me out before you bail."

Kyle was mortified, which was an understatement, at best. After all this time of stressing about anyone ever finding out that he slept with his best friend every weekend, Stan just goes and makes small talk with Kenny about it. And it wasn't like he could even look cool and at least say he was getting some action from the situation; Kenny specifically used the word _cuddling_. What was more embarrassing and unmanly than a word like that?

"This is not just his situation, Kenny. It's mine too. He had no right to tell you that. He didn't—" He stopped midsentence, another realization jumping into play as if they were lined up one by one. He looked to the sky with closed eyes. _What if Cartman found out?,_ he thought. Kenny was the one who tolerated the fatass the most, after all. _My life cannot get any worse._ He continued, "He didn't…tell anyone else, did he?"

Kenny snubbed the cigarette out with the sole of his shoe, flicked the butt towards the playground, and placed both hands on Kyle's shoulders. "No, I'm the only one who knows. Don't worry, I know you're thinking that I told Cartman, but ya gotta give me more credit than that, dude. You two are my best friends. I wouldn't do that to you guys." Kenny was like that. He was a smart ass and a ball buster, but he genuinely cared for his friends.

"But aren't you doing it to Stan? I mean, yeah, I'm pissed he told you, but I'm sure he doesn't want you telling _me_ that he told you."

"Totally different."

Kyle let out a heavy sigh. "I just wish he hadn't said anything. It's not that I don't trust you, I just…I don't want a lot of people knowing about this right now, okay?"

"Well, it's not like he was in the right state of mind, dude."

Kyle tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

Kenny's eyes widened. He had wanted to let Kyle in on Stan's situation, but not the _other_ one. If Stan was going to tell Kyle that he smoked pot, then that was all on Stan. Kenny couldn't care less if he told him or not, but he didn't want to be the bearer of bad news himself. Normally, he was a good liar on his feet, but this just slipped out of his mouth. He didn't mean for it to. "Nothin', don't worry about it." Exposing one secret that he shouldn't was enough for the day.

Kyle scoffed. "Yeah right. Tell me what you meant." He thought for a moment and strategized the situation. "Was it when we were all drinking on Saturday?"

Kenny considered this. It sounded good enough. "Yeah."

Kyle crossed his arms over each other. "Really. That's funny, because when we started this conversation, you said he told you weeks ago."

Hearing a distant Cartman in the back of his head say, Conniving Jew, he said: "Fuck."

"Godammit, Kenny! What else do you know that I don't?"

Ten minutes later, Kenny was still spilling the entire story, very unwillingly, to his friend—right down to the detail of his weird drug dealer. But, while Kyle had the upper hand during this confession, prodding him for as many details as possible, a thought occurred to Kenny. Just before he was about to delve into the whole kiss dilemma, he yelled, suddenly, "Wait just a fucking minute!" Kyle jumped back a step.

"What? No way there is more. Your dealer isn't even the last of it?"

Kenny poked Kyle's chest. "Don't go acting all high and mighty, Broflovski."

"What are you talking about?"

"Who did you come to after you dropped acid over in San Francisco, huh? Telling me you had all these weird thoughts and shit afterward."

Kyle's mouth fell open again. "You said you wouldn't bring that up anymore, dude!"

"Yeah, well, you can't be mad at Stan now, can you? That was when we were eight, and he still doesn't think you've done any drugs yet." Kenny knew full well that he had turned the conversation back in his favor; Kyle's eyes were lost on the grass.

Kenny sighed. This was going on longer than he intended it to. "Listen, this shit aside—because this isn't even why I pulled you out here—he only told me about your little homo sleepovers because he needed advice on what to do. I'm only telling you this because the kid is driving me nuts, Kyle. He's been trying to kiss you for the past fucking month and he just doesn't have the balls to do it, and he keeps bitchin' about it."

Kyle opened his mouth to counter Kenny's accusation of "little homo sleepovers," but he stopped himself when the rest of his words registered. "What?" His voice quieted.

Kenny smirked and rolled his eyes at the change in tone. "Listen, he'll probably try again this Friday, and if he doesn't, just give in and fuckin' do it yourself. You know that it's only going to be received well, thanks to me, and that's an advantage that he doesn't have."

Kyle didn't even bother with questioning how Kenny would know whether or not he would receive this well. How would he know if Kyle felt the same way? Sure, everyone mentioned that their friendship was closer than normal, but that didn't mean they knew anything. He'd rather not acknowledge his feelings with Kenny. If the situations were switched, Kyle would never have told a single person no matter what state of mind he was in. "Why can't I just wait until he does it?"

"Because by the time that fucking kid gets around to it, you'll both be married with kids and be stuck in this whole messy Brokeback Mountain situation. I'm saving you two from cheesy 'I wish I could quit you' lines. I'm doing you a _favor_."

Kyle smirked. "You've seen that movie, haven't you?"

"Maybe. Once. But at least I don't jack off to it and pretend one of the actors is Stan like you probably do."

Kyle rolled his eyes, but managed an amused grin anyway. "Fuck you, Kenny." If Cartman had said that last statement, he'd probably punch him in his overly corpulent stomach, but this was Kenny. Kenny was crude, not mean.

Kenny gave him a friendly smile, and a pat on the back. At least Kyle didn't seem like he was as angry anymore. "Give him a bit, see if he takes a shot at it. Who knows, maybe he got rid of that vagina between his legs. But like I said, if he doesn't do anything, just do it yourself. If not for the sake of possible gay bliss, then for the sake of my ears."

X X X

When Stan left for his house that Friday, his high was slowly wearing off—but he was still high nonetheless. He would have just stayed at Kenny's until he came down completely, but his parents needed him home for dinner by 5:30, and it was already 5:20. Kenny had already sobered up, and he thought it was just hilarious that Stan was still high and had to go home. Stan—not so much. Kenny gave him some eye drops to alleviate the pink in them, a spray of cheap cologne to get the smell off his clothes, and then sent him on his way.

When he arrived at his front door, he was staring straight into a nice case of paranoia instead of his house. He hadn't come down yet and both of his parents' cars were in the driveway. Getting caught wasn't even an option. He'd be grounded for a year, at least. He checked his reflection in the window. He looked normal, his hat was straight, his coat looked fine, his schoolbag was slung over one shoulder, but he couldn't tell the color of his eyes. He hoped that those eye drops worked on the red. He couldn't convince his parents that he had suddenly gotten pink eye in both his left and his right since this morning. Well, he might be able to convince his dad of this sudden epidemic, but definitely not his mom.

And, as luck would have it, as soon as he opened the door, his mother was right there, taking her coat off in the doorway to hang on the coat rack. "Oh hi, sweetie."

She startled him, causing him to jump a bit in his step. Of all places, he didn't expect her to be right in front of him. "Hey mom!"

She noticed right away that he seemed on edge. "Are you okay, Stanley? You seem a little jumpy."

Shit. Shit. Shit. Stan had to think fast. "Yeah, I'm fine." He moved to take off his coat and backpack, just like he did every day. He was trying to be as normal as possible, but he was so nervous that he felt his heart pumping in his neck. That was one thing he decided he didn't like about weed—his heart felt like it was on a treadmill sometimes. He had to divert the topic away from himself. Taking notice that he only bumped into his mother because she was taking off her coat too, he asked "Were you out?" hoping his aftermath paranoia didn't filter through his words.

"Oh, no. I just had to walk out to the car real quick to help your father bring in the food." She started walking towards the kitchen. "He picked up some Chinese for dinner."

Stan had planned to flee immediately to his room so that he didn't chance the risk of getting caught, but just the mention of food had him trailing close behind his mother to the kitchen. He had the munchies bad and some City Wok sounded absolutely perfect.

Randy was in the kitchen, unloading food from white plastic bags with smiley faces on them that said: _Have a Nice Day_. "Hey, Stan."

"Hi, Dad." Now he had to avert his eyes from two parents. He had to get in there, get food, and take it upstairs. He definitely couldn't sit through dinner with them. Maybe he could make up some excuse so that he didn't have to eat at the table. He made his way to the cabinet to get a plate as his parents talked about their days to each other. He started putting some rice on a plate, trying to move quickly, but not too quickly.

"Stan," he felt his mother's hand on his shoulder. He tensed. "Kyle is upstairs. You should take him something too."

Stan stopped what he was doing mid rice scoop. It wasn't out of the ordinary for Kyle to be here before Stan. This was like his second home, and Kyle's house was his. But of all the times they've done this, he couldn't be more thankful that his best friend was upstairs before him. Because, since he was, he knew his mom wouldn't make him sit at the dinner table and eat with the family. Especially since it was only Chinese food, and she hadn't put in effort to cook anything. He'd never been more thankful for Kyle and the City Wok restaurant. "Kay."

He prepared two plates, grabbed some fortune cookies and chopsticks, and then went upstairs.

Kyle was off to the side of Stan's room, sitting against the wall on the floor, unaware that anyone had even walked in. His knees were bent, balancing a copybook and textbook, and he was concentrating on homework with iPod headphones blocking out the sound of the world around him. This bought Stan a few extra seconds to check on his appearance.

He walked over to his bureau by his door and put the plates of food down. He glanced in his mirror and breathed a sigh of relief. His eyes were fine. Those drops Kenny had given him really did their job.

He could see Kyle sitting there in the reflection of the mirror just writing away in his notebook. He also noticed a little duffel bag sitting beside him. It was Kyle's overnight bag. It seemed like they were sticking to their regular routine of sleepovers again. A small smile made its way to Stan's lips. They didn't even talk about hanging out tonight; it was just silently assumed by now that they were because of what day it was.

The first time Stan had returned from his confession with Kenny, opportunity after opportunity had passed by during the sleepover that night. He had plenty of chances to kiss his best friend, but he didn't do anything besides try and act as if everything was normal. That act jumped into the next week, and then the week after, and he planned to finally kick the act out of mind tonight. Hopefully. But since he had run over this in his head for weeks now, he was growing accustomed to putting the kiss off.

He grabbed a baseball sitting on his bureau and threw it at Kyle's book, knocking it to the ground and grabbing Kyle's attention along with it. "Dude!" He yelled emphatically and ripped out the ear buds that were tucked neatly under the side flaps of his green hat.

Stan just snickered lightly as he grabbed a tiny piece of chicken off his plate and plopped it in his mouth. _This. Is. Amazing._, he thought, throwing any inclination that he was just thinking about lip-locking with his Bestest out the window.

"I was in the middle of writing something, you r-tard! Now there's a big line through my Biology homework..." He lifted the copybook and tilted it in front of his face, examining the huge line that the throw caused. "Thanks. Really."

"No problem. Here, my parents said to feed you." Stan turned to Kyle and handed him one of the plates that he had hurriedly prepared. He didn't feel as paranoid as he did now that he had had a good look at his appearance. Kyle would have no idea that he had smoked with Kenny just a few hours ago.

"Sweet. Thanks, dude."

Kyle looked down at the plate and then eyed Stan curiously, which caused panic to seep into Stan's system again. Could he notice he was still somewhat high? Why else would he be staring? He knew Kyle didn't care if it was kosher or not. "What?"

"Well," Kyle began, glancing at his plate again and then back, "we're in the 21st century, now, right?"

"Last time I checked."

"So, what's cool about that, say, versus the medieval period, is that when we consume our food, we use these handy things called _utensils_."

"Sarcasm not needed, dude." That sense of relief was back for Stan. Kyle didn't suspect anything. He just didn't want to eat with his face.

"What am I supposed to do? Tilt my head back and aim the plate for my mouth? You should've brought me a fork, too."

"It's Chinese food. You don't eat it with a fork."

"Why not? It's not like I'd be disgracing my Asian ancestors, for the obvious reason—I don't have any."

"Good thing too. You would make the worst Asian."

"You say that like they're taking applicants."

Stan rolled his eyes, grabbed two chopsticks from his back pocket and threw them at Kyle's head. They bounced off of his hat to the floor.

"Dude, if I knew you were coming home to just throw things at me, I would've stayed at my own house."

During the rest of the night, the boys didn't do anything out of the ordinary. After finishing their food, they walked over to Kenny's house to pick him up, and then grabbed Cartman before walking over to the South Park Community Center parking lot to play soccer with other kids from school. Naturally, Cartman didn't see the point in playing soccer because he claimed that it was, "some stupid Euro-trash sport," but he got shoved into being a goalie anyway. After Kyle argued to the rest of the team that he was the best bet because he didn't need to move to block the ball, just stand in front of the net.

Kyle hadn't felt too awkward around Stan since Kenny had let the kiss out of the bag. When he first found out, he played over the past few weeks in his head, going over Stan's actions, and a few things started to make a lot of sense. Like two weeks ago, when Stan put no effort into fighting back when tackled to the ground for referring to Kyle's mom as a bitch. He didn't even try to get Kyle off of him. Instead, he just stared and then said he wanted to go to sleep. Kyle didn't really think anything of the lack of retaliation, and passed it off as he was just tired. But now, it made a whole lot more sense. He at least found himself trying to act completely normal around Stan since Wednesday so that he wouldn't give away that he knew.

After a called game because Butters' got hit in the face with a soccer ball and knocked out a tooth, night had settled quietly over South Park. The group of boys just decided to hang around the parking lot the rest of the evening and fight over the six pack that Clyde managed to steal out of his parents' fridge. By the time 11:30 rolled around, Stan and Kyle left their friends and walked off in the direction to Stan's house.

Stan had a motivational speech reeling in his head the entire walk home. He was going to kiss him tonight, no excuses. He had put it off long enough. This limbo the two were sitting in needed a push in the right direction, and Stan was the one who was going to do it. He was ready. He'd grab Kyle and kiss him like he's never been kissed before. Granted, Kyle still hadn't kissed anyone besides Rebecca and Bebe, both in the third grade, but despite the lame competition, Stan was determined to sweep him off his feet.

But by the time the two were in Stan's room, sitting on the corner of his bed, flicking through channels, waiting until next week again was starting to seem like not such a bad idea. People do say that May is the month of love; maybe he'd have better luck then?

Stan sighed and leaned back onto his bed to lie down and pull his blanket over as the guest from the _Really Late Late Show_ sounded in the background. He lost interest in the show months ago. The host got kind of annoying after awhile and the guests were so boring that he started to wonder: just how difficult was it really to get put on TV? Any ordinary day in South Park was ten times more interesting than any given celebrity on the show.

Kyle wasted no time in expressing his thoughts on the matter. "I don't get it. Who the hell cares that she's having a baby? Why is this top news on the show right now? And look, even the audience is awwing every three seconds. Never mind the possible flu pandemic—that doesn't mean anything when what's-her-face is about to pop out a kid."

Stan had to admit, Kyle was into this crap more than he was. He always voiced annoyance with it, but didn't bother changing the channel. He just sat on the side of the bed, shaking his head at the television. Stan figured that for someone being so judgmental about something, he wasn't exactly dressed the part to be condescending.

Kyle looked like a total nerd.

His hair was all over the place. It wasn't as long now as when they were kids, but random curls were still intertwined with goofy twists and spirals of auburn atop his head. It was struggling between matted down hat hair and a full on stereotypical afro. His gray t-shirt said _Raging Pussies_ on the front of it; it was from four years ago, so it was faded with a growing hole underneath the left sleeve. Despite Stan's constant mocking of it, Kyle never threw it out. It was one of his most comfortable shirts to sleep in. His plaid pajama pants were too short for him, and exposed his skinny, pale ankles, which were absent of hair—totally weird for a fifteen-going-on-sixteen year old boy. But what made Stan smirk was the shoes.

Kyle had this weird problem with sweating. He wasn't a comically sweaty dude, just had a bad case of clammy hand syndrome. By some miracle, even in cold weather, Kyle was always sweating—his hands and feet mostly. Then, when his feet sweat and the air hit them, they would get cold. Instead of playing on again off again with his socks, he said the shoes kept his feet at a happy medium for some reason. Whatever logical explanation Kyle found in this, he preferred wearing his shoes most of the time.

So there sat Kyle, with wild hair, an old t-shirt, short pants, and bulky sneakers—judging America's interest in celebrities. He would never go out looking like this. Only his parents, brother, and Stan saw him like this. This was comfortable Kyle.

A commercial interrupted between a bad joke and a good reaction when Kyle flopped down on the bed beside Stan. He adjusted himself to lie on his stomach, propping up on his elbows, and looked over at his best friend. Kyle smiled as Stan tilted his head in this certain way, with a lazily arched eyebrow. Stan always looked so laid back, like he hadn't a care in the world. Kyle always noticed things like that. Just little things that made Stan who he was; things that made Kyle all the more excited about the eventual outcome of the night. Stan was going to kiss him, or he was going to kiss Stan. Either way, tomorrow was going to be drastically different in their little world of two.

Kyle had an urge to kiss him right then, but Kenny's words to wait and see if Stan would take the initiative rung in his head. Besides, he kind of liked waiting to see what Stan would do. It wasn't like Stan got nervous about things often, so this was a rare occasion. It was causing a spiteful side in Kyle to surface that wanted to relish in the moment, at least a little bit. This was more exciting than nerve-wracking for Kyle. Because, after all, this was only Stan, and he'd seen Stan cry for two hours after pooping his pants in kindergarten. What did Kyle have to be nervous about with that kind of information?

He resisted the urge, and let his sense of smell change the topic. "Dude." Kyle leaned his head down to sniff Stan's shirt, more specifically the armpit region. "You smell like you're promoting B.O."

Stan considered this. They had been playing soccer only a short time ago, and he had been the only one really putting any effort into it. "Maybe I am."

"Don't take Cartman's day job."

Stan scoffed a laugh. "We were playing soccer. Sorry, I'm a dude, and I'm tired. You're gonna have to deal."

"Really, though. There's ass coming from this area." Kyle hovered a hand over Stan's chest and shoulder, specifying what he meant by 'this area.'

Stan tilted his head to get a whiff of what Kyle was implying and then just shrugged.

"Sick, Stan."

"Come on, dude, I don't even smell anything. And at least I don't have a passageway for my B.O." Stan grabbed Kyle's wrist and yanked his arm up, revealing the hole under Kyle's sleeve—armpit region. "Jesus, Kyle, is this shit getting bigger?"

Kyle pulled his arm from Stan's grasp and his balance faltered, landing on top of Stan's chest, causing tiny laughs to erupt from the two of them. His arm fell on the other side of his friend and he decided to just hold himself up with a steady palm instead of moving back to where he was.

"And, dude," Stan continued, looking up at Kyle lingering above him as if it were the most ordinary position ever, "what did I tell you about the shoes in my bed?"

Kyle appeared bored with this conversation on his choice in comfortable clothing. "But my feet get cold."

"Put them under the blanket like a normal person."

He groaned and pushed himself away to kick off his shoes, noting that yet another moment had passed by for Stan. Maybe he had to start thinking about making a move himself. "I should see if I can find a nice pair of old lady slippers to start wearing." he joked, trying to take his attention off lost opportunities.

Stan smiled cheekily with a sarcastic reply. "Yeah, that was my next suggestion. It would be better than you always wearing those fucking shoes on my bed."

"Dude, let it go, I'm taking them off, alright?"

"But think, you could've left them on if they were old lady slippers."

"This is true." Kyle's feet were free of sneakers, so he crawled back in the bed and climbed under the covers. He mimicked Stan's position and just laid on his back, their shoulders and arms pressed against one another.

Stan tilted his head to look at Kyle, who in turn, did the same. By this point, the television no longer existed. Their noses were only inches apart and his voice quieted because they were so close. He could whisper and Kyle would still hear him. "And that totally would have completed the whole outfit, right? I mean, the shirt, the pants—"

"Wait, what's wrong with my pants?" Kyle looked offended.

"When was the last time we had a flood in South Park?"

He smirked, taking a hint at what Stan was getting at. "You never know, dude. Remember the guinea pigs from that Peruvian flute band shit in fourth grade? A flood is no way any weirder than having a turd in my backyard the size of my mom's miniva—"

And at that moment, Stan Marsh had taken the initiative, grew a pair of balls, and silenced Kyle Broflovski with a kiss while he was mid-sentence, reminiscing about giant hamster turds. Not Stan's idea of romantic, but as Kyle spoke he realized just how close they were to each other again, and how natural it felt. He knew that normal friends didn't lay together like this, in the same bed, under one blanket. He'd die before he did anything like this with Kenny or anyone else. So, he ran with the urge to finally kiss Kyle before he could reconsider and put it off for another week.

Kyle smiled against Stan's lips, welcoming the kiss happily, and lifted his hand to rest on the side of Stan's neck and jaw line, the tip of his thumb lightly grazing his earlobe. In return, Stan slipped a hand over Kyle's waist, gripping a handful of _Raging Pussies_ fabric. Kyle tilted his head just slightly so he could part his lips comfortably, and their tongues slowly met, encircling each other.

Stan had made out with Wendy plenty of times when he wasn't puking on her, had even rounded second base a couple of times, but that was nothing compared to the way Kyle was making him feel. That flip in his stomach was doing gymnastics and he decided right then, that if Kyle didn't want to pursue this further, he was going to put up one hell of a fight for it.

Kyle wanted so bad to enjoy this moment. He was finally kissing _Stan_, and Stan was the one who had kissed _him_. Kyle had been thinking about this for as long as he could remember, but a small laugh erupted from his bothersome vocal chords. He couldn't help it. Stan's timing was ridiculous.

Stan immediately opened his eyes and pulled away when he heard it. "What?" He asked, somewhat in a happy daze of first kiss aftermath, but somewhat worried. He didn't know what was going on in Kyle's head. It seemed like he was into the kiss, until he laughed. Until he fucking laughed. Stan frowned.

Kyle threw his hands over his mouth to stifle his laughter, but this was a problem he had difficulty with. If he thought something was funny at the wrong time, he'd have to leave the room because he could never hold laughter in when it wanted release. His attempt to hide it was irrefutable. "I'm sorry, but I was just thinking about how this took you a month to do, and you finally do it while I'm talking about giant hamster turds."

"What." It wasn't a question, more like the beginning of a 'what the fuck' reaction. Stan's face was deadpan.

Kyle moved his hands away from his mouth once he took control of his laughter. He still had an amused grin plastered on his face, though. "Kenny said you have been trying to kiss me for like, three weeks now."

This was a nice dose of embarrassment. If Kenny hadn't opened his big mouth, Kyle wouldn't have known that Stan had been trying to kiss him for a month, and then failed multiple times. "He wasn't supposed to tell you that."

"Yeah, figured that much. But on Wednesday, he—"

"Wednesday? He told you on _Wednesday?_ And you didn't tell me he told you until now?"

"He suggested I wait."

"Dude! Since when do you listen to Kenny?"

"Since when do you smoke pot with him?"

Stan extended the distance between the two by sitting up. "He told you that too?" He let out an annoyed sigh and closed his eyes. "What the fuck…" He pinched the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb, making a mental not to confide in Kenny anymore.

Kyle sat up as well and he managed to smile in the midst of everything. "Ya know, you're really kinda cute when you do that." He crossed his legs, Indian style, his short pants riding up even further from the movement. "I can say that now, right? Since we just kind of…"

Kyle trailed off but Stan finished for him. "Since you just kind of laughed in my face."

"Dude, I said I was sorry. I wasn't laughing at you, I'm glad you did it, but out of all the opportunities you had, you do it when I'm—"

"Yeah, I get it, Kyle." Stan sighed a deep breath again. "So, you're not mad at me for smoking with Kenny then? I thought you would be totally pissed off."

Kyle bit the corner of his lip. "Yeah, well…I guess I really don't have the right to be mad at you."

"Why?"

"Well, I kind of…when me and my family were in San Francisco awhile back…I may have done a hit of acid."

"What!"

"I never did it again after that!"

"Kyle!"

"What?!"

"After all the shit you gave me for wanting to try pot, you did acid and never told me? Are you kidding me?" Stan paused for a moment, rethinking that period of time in their history together. "When you were in San Francisco…? Jesus Christ, we were _eight_, dude!"

Kyle folded his arms over his chest and frowned. He would much rather get back to the kissing part than talk about this. "It's not that big of a deal."

Stan paused for a second. "Okay, this totally cancels out any bitching you had planned regarding my situation with Kenny. You've lost privilege."

"So it's a situation now?"

"You know what I mean."

"Well, you're not going to turn into some big pothead now are you?"

"No, dude, of course not. I only smoked with him, like, three times. Why do you always do that? You assume the worst. You're like an old lady."

"Dude, I am not."

"Hey man, if the slipper fits." Stan smirked.

"And I wasn't serious about that either! Like hell I'm gonna walk around with slippers. You're going to have to deal with the shoes." Just to spite his new potential boyfriend, he leaned over the edge of Stan's bed to put his sneakers back on.

"Then you're gonna have to deal with sleeping on the floor."

"No way. I don't even remember the last time I slept on your floor."

Stan pushed him, causing him to fall over the side of the bed, mid-sneaker grab. "Dude!"

Then before they knew it, they were once again wrestling on Stan's carpet, each trying to get the other pinned down, while somehow managing to steal kisses in between getting elbows in the face.

Stan made it a point to figure out a way to get back at Kenny for telling Kyle what he was trying to do all month. He didn't plan on holding a grudge, because even if it was worth being pissed off, he knew that Kenny only had good intentions. Something was totally deserved though. Maybe he'd ask Cartman to help prank him somehow. It wasn't like Cartman ever needed an actual reason to play a trick on someone, so Stan wouldn't even have to explain himself.

He decided to put confronting Kenny off until he saw him at the bus stop on Monday though, because this weekend, he had more important things to tend to. Now that he and Kyle opened a new door, he had every intention of spending the weekend locked in his room with the person that he was currently making eat the floor.

But of course, they'd get back to making out officially after Stan had won this little match. No way was he letting Kyle win on purpose this time. The bastard shouldn't have laughed in his face.

The End.

A/N: So if you made it this far, thank you for taking time out of your day to read. Hope you enjoyed this story. It was fun to write. Thank you for all the nice reviews!


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